Matilda
by PangeaSplits
Summary: Erik is in fact in love with Charles Francis Xavier and would readily do anything for him. Including buying him a puppy—shudder—for his birthday. At least it seemed like a good idea. Charles/Erik.


Birthday!fic for **MonstrousReg**.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_Author's Note_ at the end of fic (contains spoilers).

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_**Matilda**_

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It seems like a good idea.

Scratch that. It seems like the most perfect idea in the entire universe, because damn it, Erik is the best boyfriend in the entire universe, hands down, no contest, everybody else go home.

And at first, he can really believe it, too, judging by the look currently residing on Charles' face.

"Are you sure?" Charles asks hopefully, eyes shining, and Jesus Christ, it's not like Erik could say no to that anyway.

"I drove us here, didn't I?" Erik asks gruffly anyway, because he's still got to keep up Appearances. And stuff. "Just pick one out so we can leave."

Instead of doing what Erik says, Charles launches himself into Erik's arms, latching onto him tightly, and alright, fine, this is an acceptable deviation. So even though they're standing in the middle of the parking lot of the Happy Tails Adoption Agency—who the fuck even came up with that name, anyway—he dutifully gathers Charles into his arms.

"I love you, you're the best," Charles says into Erik's shoulder, and Erik allows himself a brief moment of feeling melty and gooey with affection because let it not be unknown that despite the fact he is probably the largest dick on the planet—and he certainly _has_ the largest dick on the planet, make no mistake—he is in fact in love with Charles Francis Xavier and would readily do anything for him.

Including buying him a puppy—shudder—for his birthday.

Moment over. Erik clears his throat. "I know I am." But then he adds silently, projecting so Charles will hear him past his shields, _I love you too_.

When Charles lets go and steps back, he's beaming, and sends back a slow feeling of warmth that starts at the top of Erik's head and spreads down to his toes, and then sticks out his hand. "I want your input," he says in his best no-nonsense-Erik-this-is-how-it's-going-to-be voice, "we're doing this together."

Erik rolls his eyes but takes Charles' hand and allows Charles to lead him inside, because it's his birthday so Erik might as well humor him.

Besides. It won't be that bad.

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It turns out to be a nightmare.

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"Look at—"

"No."

"Erik, you didn't even actually look at him. He's actually quite cute."

"It looks like a mop, Charles. I am not going to walk a _mop_ down the street."

"...Fair enough."

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"What about this one?"

"Goodness, no, Erik, look at his teeth!"

"Exactly. Look at his teeth."

"_No_."

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"Golden Retrievers are a terrible cliché and I refuse to become one of the masses, even if they are terribly cute. But I just want something a little different from the norm, something that isn't so family-of-four-in-the-suburbs because while one day I _would_ like to have a family with you, I just think we should really take this one step at a time because this is already a big commitment, you know, getting a dog, and I'm happy that we are, truly and deeply, but I just don't think a Golden Retriever is a good match for us right now."

"Jesus, tell me how you _really_ feel."

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"If you pick a Chihuahua, I'm moving out."

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"What about this one? It's a German Shepherd."

"You only like it because it has the word _German_ in it."

"I happen to think that's a perfectly acceptable reason."

"I happen to think you're being ridiculous."

"I happen to think that I wish you'd just pick out a damn dog already."

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"What about this one?"

"What _is_ that?"

"She's a Shih Tzu."

"That's a _no_."

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"Erik I am _trying_ to pick out a puppy," Charles says finally after they've passed roughly two million more kennels of dogs, "but you're making it kind of hard when you say no to every single breed."

"You've said no to some too," Erik points out, and when Charles huffs, he adds, "but fine. We're getting whatever's in the next kennel, no matter what it is. Agreed?"

Charles considers him. "Deal. But only because I want the second half of my birthday present."

Erik scowls. "You weren't supposed to know."

_Everyone gets birthday sex on their birthday_, Charles says dryly, _it's not a big secret_.

Erik purposefully projects the filthiest scene he can picture—which is pretty easy, given the fact that his imagination is practically limitless when it comes to him, Charles, and optionally a bed—in retaliation so that Charles blushes scarlet, sputtering.

Success.

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The next kennel, it turns out, contains one of the strangest-looking dogs Erik has ever seen.

"It says here that she's a mix between a Dachshund and a Beagle," Charles reports, reading off the small sheet of paper attached to the kennel's bars, and then kneels down to stick his fingers into the cage. "Aw, hi there. We're going to take you home."

Erik watches the mutt lick at Charles' fingers. "Yes. Finally. Let's go." He doesn't feel like waiting around for one of the frankly way-too-peppy employees to come by to unlock the cage so he does it himself, easily shifting the tumblers in the lock with his power so that the door swings open.

The dog shoots out of the kennel, surprisingly fast despite its long body and stubby legs, and jumps up to put its paws on Erik's leg, coming up just barely to his thigh, tail wagging. It has sleek black fur and a pink tongue that lolls out of its mouth, and tiny little ears that are currently perked up happily.

"She likes you." Charles says, and Erik knows that tone of voice—the telepath is smitten, so this is definitely the dog they're getting, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Once Charles makes up his mind, it's nearly impossible to deter him.

"She's peeing on me," Erik says flatly in response, because hey, it's the truth, and he's just trying to keep it real.

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"Shredder. Bruiser. Killer."

"No!" Charles says, sounding scandalized. "Those are all awful names, wherever did you even _get _those from?"

"I made them up."

"Well it shows." Charles strokes their new puppy gently where she is nestled happily in his lap for the car ride home.

"Well my first choice would have been _Pisser_ seeing as it'd fit the best, but I figured you'd veto that too."

"You figured correctly." Charles answers dryly.

Erik rolls his eyes. The whole adoption process had been tediously boring, and frankly he's ready to get home so he can fuck Charles senseless.

"I think we ought to take her for a walk around the block when we get home," Charles continues absently, as if he's picked up on Erik's thoughts—and well, he probably has. "Let her get used to her knew neighborhood. It's going to be her territory, after all."

"She doesn't look very territori_al_." Erik points out. "And you can't walk her until you name her; otherwise what are you going to tell the neighbors when they ask?"

"I was rather counting on having your absolutely _charming_ presence along to dissuade any of the neighbors from even daring to look out their windows at us, let alone come out and talk to us." Charles says sweetly.

"Or we could just go inside immediately," Erik starts to suggest, because while dragging Charles in like a caveman is something he tries to avoid resorting to, he is not above taking drastic measures if he has to.

"I'm going to call her Matilda," Charles announces, and this time he's definitely ignoring Erik on purpose, "it suits her. There, now we can walk her proudly and without shame."

Erik entirely fails to see how anything other than Pisser suits this dog, but far be it from him to argue. "Whatever happened to you wanting the second half of your birthday present?" he grumbles, mostly to himself, as he turns into their driveway.

_Sometimes you have to sacrifice things like sex when you have kids_, Charles says primly, and then opens his door to allow Matilda to hop down out of the car before sliding out after her, leash in hand.

What.

Just happened.

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After a week, it becomes very clear that they left something out of Matilda's fact sheet and Erik has come to the grim realization that she is _not_ part-Dachshund, part-Beagle.

She is part-Dachshund, part-Beagle, part-Velociraptor.

"Charles!" Erik shouts, both aloud and mentally as he shakes his leg in vain, trying to dislodge the little terror that has clamped its teeth in his pants and now refuses to let go. Erik has just only gotten back from a very long day at work and he _does not need this shit_.

"What is it, darling?" Charles asks, poking his head into the living room. Then he laughs.

"Get her off," Erik orders, and this is progress because it took him a few days to start calling the dog _she_ instead of _it_.

"She just wants to play," Charles protests, but comes forward dutifully, first giving Erik a quick hello kiss, and then crouching down. "No chewing on Erik, Matilda, you know better."

"I don't think she knows," Erik says dryly a few moments later when Matilda still refuses to let go, her tail wagging.

"Matilda." Charles says, sounding a bit sterner this time. Or at least his own version of sterner. Personally Erik still thinks he sounds like he's trying to invite Matilda over for tea instead of trying to get her to open her damn mouth and let the fuck go of Erik's pants. "That's odd. She just really must miss you during the day."

"Or she wants to eat me. Either way."

Charles rolls his eyes. "Don't be dramatic."

Erik thinks it's plausible, and not dramatic in any way, shape, or form.

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"I am not having sex with you while the dog is still in here."

"It's not like we'd be ruining her innocence or anything."

"I'm not doing it."

"Fine, then I'll happily kick her out."

"But then she'll be lonely."

"This may surprise you, but I don't care."

"Well _I _do. We can't kick her out, just look at her! She already looks sad."

"Jesus Christ."

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The second Erik shuts the door in her face she starts to howl, which is a real mood-killer, and doesn't stop until he opens the door again.

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"She takes up all the room in the bed—"

"She does not—"

"—including my pillow."

"She just wants to be close to us because she loves us."

"She just wants to sleep on my pillow, Charles. There are no special motives here."

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"She ate my tie."

"Are you sure you haven't lost it?"

"I do not _lose_ things."

"Did you check under the bed?"

"The shredded remains are _in her mouth_."

"…Oh. _Bad_ dog, Matilda."

Somehow Erik feels that the sentiment isn't quite getting across.

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"Erik, please, will you take her?"

"No," he mumbles automatically, turning over onto his stomach and pulling his pillow up over his head. Unsurprisingly this does nothing to help block out the incessant whimpering and whining coming from the direction of the bedroom door.

"She _needs_ to go out, Erik—"

"She's _your_ dog—"

"Three blowjobs," Charles says quickly, "whenever you want."

Erik groans, because leave it to Charles to play this dirty. "Fine," he snaps, pushing himself up and climbing somewhat clumsily out of bed, "and they'd better be the best damn blowjobs ever given on the face of this earth."

"I love you," Charles murmurs sleepily, and then he's already snoring again.

Erik stubs his toe on the dresser while trying to find his shoes, letting out a hiss of curses for a few moments, nearly tripping over Matilda too as she prances around him excitedly. He practically kicks the door open and she skitters out into the hallway, nails clicking on the tile. Rubbing his eyes and still grumbling, Erik makes his way through the house to the sliding glass door that overlooks their back patio and yard.

He considers grabbing the leash for a moment but fuck it, Matilda's collar has metal in it so he can easily track her and then drag her back in the event that she decides to take off.

"Hurry up," he tells her, and opens the door.

Matilda darts out into the yard, her black fur making her blend right in with the shadows, and Erik follows a couple steps after her, sliding the door shut again behind him as he steps out onto the patio. It's a hot and humid night, but the sky is clear, the full moon visible along with a smattering of stars.

Erik comes to a stop on the edge of the patio, idly following the metal in Matilda's collar. She's only a few yards away and he can hear her sniffing around in the bushes as she does her thing, so there's no danger of losing her—he'd never hear the end of it from Charles, anyway.

"A pleasant evening, is it not?"

Erik nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden voice, and looks around wildly for the source. At first he doesn't see anyone, but then he catches sight of his creepy next door neighbor; one of those strange Norwegian-something-or-anothers that are always making quite a bit of noise and generally pissing Erik off.

It's the tall, skinny one who always looks like he could use a good bath. He's sitting up on his roof, staring down at Erik like some kind of vulture. Erik has always gotten a strange vibe from him from day one, and isn't sure if it's because he rarely comes outdoors—except, apparently, in the middle of the night; no wonder he's so damn pale—or because whenever he talks, he seems to be mocking no matter how polite he may sound.

There's nothing that grinds down Erik's nerves more than pretentious assholes who think they're better than everyone else.

"What the hell are you doing?" Erik demands. Give him a break, it's fuck o'clock in the morning and he's taking the damn dog out, politeness is not an option.

"You have a very nice dog," his neighbor replies instead in that weird, soft voice of his that still somehow carries over clearly. Loki's—Erik _thinks_ that's his name; it's no better than his supposed brother's name which is Thorn or something, and for the record they don't look alike at _all_ so Erik highly doubts that they're actually related—eyes are reflecting the moonlight, making them look several times bigger than normal.

"Er, thanks." Erik answers cautiously. Shut up, eloquence was never an option either.

"She must like the moon," Loki says dreamily, and what the hell, that makes no sense whatsoever. Then again, this _is_ coming from a guy perched up on his roof at fuck o'clock in the morning like some kind of Norwegian gargoyle.

"Uh, sure." Erik's a tough guy, but even he knows when to admit he's feeling a little creeped out, so it's definitely time to go back inside and crawl back into bed with Charles. Surely Matilda is finished with her business by now. He raises his voice gruffly. "Matilda."

No response, not even a rustling of bushes to announce her impending return.

Frowning, Erik reaches out with his power, feeling around for her collar. Nothing.

"_Matilda_," he calls again, this time a little louder. Wonderful. Now he'll have to go out searching in the bushes for three hours or something looking for her, all while his weirdo next-door neighbor watches and probably doesn't offer to help.

"Silly puppy," Loki murmurs, and Erik suddenly wishes that he had gravel instead of grass so he could throw a rock or six at him or something.

He's distracted from answering, though, when his powers suddenly register the feeling of metal off in the far corner of the yard. "Matilda, _come_." He gives the metal a small tug to emphasize his command.

And then he realizes that the metal is several times bigger than it should be.

A large shadow detaches itself from the rest, and Erik has a moment of frozen fear, standing rooted to the spot as whatever it is starts coming towards him. It's wearing his dog's collar but whatever that monstrous thing is, it's not Matilda and what the _fuck_ is going on—

He has a split-second view of burning red eyes and long, vicious teeth covered in blood and revealed by lips pulled back in a silent snarl, and then his vision seems to distort as the creature—monster, beast—seems to shrink as it steps back into the moonlight.

It's Matilda.

She trots up to him, all long body and short legs; tail wagging happily as she gives his shoes a perfunctory sniff before continuing past him to wait by the sliding glass door to be let back inside. Erik stares at her blankly for a few moments because he swears that she was just some kind of demonic wolf…thing.

He hears a low, amused chuckle coming from next door, but when he looks over sharply Loki is disappearing over the ridge of his roof, probably off to haunt the other side. Whatever. Good riddance.

Erik rubs his eyes and blinks a few times, but Matilda remains unchanging where she waits by the door, head tilted curiously.

He sighs. It's late, and he's probably just hallucinating or something. It's time to go the fuck to sleep.

Erik lets Matilda back inside, locking the door firmly behind them.

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"We need to be careful," Charles says grimly the next afternoon, "something mauled a cat in our yard, I just found the remains in the bushes. It's rather gruesome. But we don't want whatever it is to get Matilda. You haven't seen anything, have you? Maybe last night when you took her out?"

"Nope," Erik says, glancing at where Matilda lies curled up in the sun by the window, "not a thing."

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_Author's Note:_ Matilda is based on **Reg**'s puppy. She transforms into Baskerville, the demon-wolf character from **Reg**'s XMFC fic _**The Bell's Toll**_, which can be found on AO3. If you haven't read it, it's fantastic; check it out sometime!


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